


Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright

by ThatLittleEnglishLass



Category: Supernatural, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Culture, Alien Mythology/Religion, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual AU, Eventual Crossover, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Gen, Godlike figures, I have my own version of said culture and mythos, M/M, Mild Gore, Mostly canon for now, Mystery, Slow Build, Supernatural (obviously), some horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatLittleEnglishLass/pseuds/ThatLittleEnglishLass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In what distant deeps or skies. Burnt the fire of thine eyes?<br/>On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand, dare seize the fire?"</p><p>Something keeps reaching out to Sam and Dean, something that desperately needs their help. Neither hunters nor angels can find the answer to the mystery, and there's a proverbial clock ticking down every second they falter. The Winchesters soon find themselves thrown into a world where everything is more than meets the eye. </p><p>"When the stars threw down their spears, And water'd heaven with their tears..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bright

**Author's Note:**

> *peeks over wall* Um...hi SPN fandom. I'm very sleepy right now. This fic was almost titled as 'TITLES ARE HARD AND I AM SLEEPY, DEAL WITH IT.' Not even joking. That's actually the title on my word doc.
> 
> In all seriousness, I hope this isn't too awful. Sorry if it is, this is honestly the very first thing I've ever seriously written for Supernatural. I've only ever written one or two drabbles and role plays with friends ect, so I'm still finding my feet really when it comes to getting the characters right. I think I did okay though. Do give me feedback on how well I managed to capture the characters, and please, if you have any advice...share it! :)
> 
> Yes, this IS a crossover, but bear in mind that said crossover won't really happen for a while. The plot I have planned is slow, an ease into the fandom for both myself, and you guys (idk how many SPN fans also like TF). 
> 
> Other than that...thank you for your interest, and have fun reading! More to come soon I hope (if people like it).

Currently, Dean hated everything.

He hated creepy small towns with no hot chicks. He hated skeevy witches who seemed to think offing sweet, innocent cookie-baking old ladies and using their bodies for crazy-ass spells was somehow acceptable behaviour. He hated having to stitch up large, pet werewolf inflicted gashes in his leg. He hated it when one witch got away. He hated shitty motel rooms that smelled like unwashed sheets and cigarette smoke.

Most of all, he hated having to go through all these things in one twenty four hour period.

The exhausted hunter grit his teeth with a soft growl as he limped over to the window, wondering what the hell was taking Sammy so damn long. Nerd had gone off to do something nerdy (probably, he wasn’t really listening at the time), leaving Dean to wallow in his own sense of self-pity for three long, insanely boring hours.

All in all, Dean was not a happy bunny.

He huffed in annoyance, causing mist to blossom upon the cold window. Staring out at the almost empty car park lit by feeble streetlights below, he idly drew nonsensical shapes, lost in thought about their next case. It was one they’d been forced to put on a back burner for a while, having slightly more pressing issues involving a barn full of zombies to take care of at the time. As far as Dean could tell, the case seemed to be a simple, boring salt-and-burn of some old geezer’s remains in a graveyard. Typical hunter-y stuff, nothing more nothing less. 

Dean winced as his leg gave a particularly painful twinge. He limped over to the small table set against the wall nearest the door and dropped down on the hard wooden seat, grabbing his gun from the table and setting to work cleaning it. It didn’t really need doing, but he couldn’t find anything better to waste his time with. Sleeping was out, he’d never get to sleep with his leg being the way it was, and they didn’t have any painkillers left after he’d taken the last batch.

'Damn it.' Dean thought as he carefully cleaned his favourite gun. 'Knew I should’ve checked our stash before heading out this morning.'

He sighed, a long empty sound that almost echoed in the small room. 

'Fuckin’ leg is killing me. If Cas were here, we wouldn’t have this problem. The hell is he at anyway? Could’a had the damn thing angel-mojoed by now.' Dean grumbled to himself. 'Feather Boy better have a good excuse for not showin’ up these past few months. I’ll pull his frickin’ wings off next time I see him, I swear.'

“I would rather you refrained from such an action.”

Dean yelped and jumped about ten feet in the air at the voice, that deep rumble he hadn’t heard for so long, too long perhaps. He whirled around to face the angel, shoving the gun he barely managed to hold on to back on the table, who stood in the middle of the room with that stupid expression on his dumb face. At least in Dean’s opinion anyway.

“The hell man!” Dean almost yelled, but then he checked himself and continued at a much lower volume. “Dammit Cas, where the hell you been?! You have any idea how worried we’ve been about you? You ‘aint answered any of my prayers. So much for that ‘profound bond’ crap.”

Castiel bowed his head. “I deeply apologise for my extended absence Dean, but please understand that it was beyond my control. Heaven had need of me.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Dean waved off the apology and explanation. “I get it.”

There was a moment of silence, in which Dean put away his gun and the angel simply continued to stare at the hunter, as per usual. Funny how it used to bother Dean, but now he almost…missed the constant, intense azure gaze set beneath the eternal sex hair. 

“So…what, angel business done with so you decided to pop round for a social visit? Lemme break out the cheese crackers.” Dean threw the question over his shoulder. “To what do I owe the fuckin’ honour of your rare angelic presence?”

Castiel frowned. “Dean, you called me here.”

Dean almost went to reply in the negative, but stopped and rewound the moments before the angel showed up. Did simply mentioning Cas in a passing thought count as a prayer these days? Seemed like it.

“Oh…right. Guess I did.”

Castiel said nothing for a few moments, gaze leaving Dean’s eyes and landing on his injured leg. Concern crossed the features of the angel, and he quickly made his way over to Dean.

“May I heal you?”

“Knock yourself out.”

“Why would I do that? That would not help the situation at all.”

Dean sighed. Castiel looked utterly bemused and it was kind of adorable. Not that Dean would ever admit it to anyone.

“It’s just a saying dude, means hurry the eff up because my leg’s killing me, we ‘aint got no painkillers left, and you got months of no-show to make up for.”

Castiel nodded solemnly and pressed two fingers to Dean’s forehead. His leg instantly stopped hurting and he could no longer feel the stitches. His body hummed slightly as angelic grace flowed through him, and he silently relished in the feeling.

“Thanks man.”

“You are welcome, Dean.” The smallest of smiles appeared on Cas’s face before fading as quickly as it came. “Do you require any more assistance?”

“Why, you got somewhere more important to be?” Dean teased.

“I must return to Heaven soon.”

“And what, we’re not gonna see you for another hundred years? Well ‘aint that fabulous.”

“I will endeavour to visit you more often Dean.” Cas assured. “I too do not like these prolonged periods of separation, but please understand I will not always be able to come when you call. I…I do not want us to argue about this.”

The absolute sincerity and sadness in the angel’s voice spurred something inside of Dean.

“Listen...Cas, I get it.” Dean said, standing up and placing his hands on the smaller man’s shoulders, feeling the texture of that signature trench-coat. “I’m sorry I’m being kinda pissy. I just had a rough day, okay? I didn’t mean to take it out on you. I get it, really I do. You got your own crap to sort out. Just drop in whenever you can.”

Castiel nodded. “I will.”

He stepped away, and the soft sound of wings serenaded his departure. Dean sighed. He didn’t like getting pissy with Cas. He knew the guy had bigger issues to deal with other than some stupid stitches. Still…he did miss the angel. He wasn’t going to deny that to himself. 

Deciding to hit the sack and forget the day, Dean ambled over to his bed and flopped on the bed. He didn’t bother changing, even though he knew he’d pay dearly for sleeping in jeans once dawn showed its ugly crack. He concluded that he didn’t particularly care. Despite the disturbingly lumpy mattress and grimy sheets, he was too tired to move and the mere thought of removing any item of clothing threatened to wrench a whiney moan from him. Dean sighed and shifted positions slightly to avoid breathing in the sour, unwashed smell of the bedding. A car drove past, causing a soft lightshow to whizz across the room. Dean’s eyelids felt heavy. There was a distant, rolling rumble and the light tip-tap of rain began to sound out a beat against the glass window pane. The hunter’s eyes began to close.

Soon, Dean was sound asleep, snoring softly in the relative quiet of the night. Sadly it was not to last. He was rudely jolted awake an hour later as Sam, having since returned and attempting to be as stealthy as possible, tripped over his own bag and knocked everything off the bedside table with an almighty clatter. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

Dean sat bolt upright and squinted at his brother in the flimsy light thrown out by the lamp (which now inhabited the fair kingdom of Gross Motel Floor).

“You wanna make any more noise Sammy? I don’t think Australia heard you.”

“Sorry…” Sam winced, rubbing the sore spot on his knee. 

Dean sighed and flopped back on the bed, staring at a suspiciously dark stain on the ceiling as Sam set to work putting the room to rights. He rubbed his eyes to clear them of sleep, scrubbing at his face to gather some wakefulness. 

“So, you find out anything useful?” Dean threw the question at his brother as said sibling rummaged in his bag. 

“Nothing we didn’t already know.” Sam replied, pulling out his nightclothes. “I asked around to find out who our escaped witch was, but nobody knew anyone matching her description. Seems like she’s from out of town or something.”

“Well, that’s just freakin’ beautiful.” Dean growled softly, “It was bad enough finding the bitches the first time round, and they weren’t exactly being careful. Still took us a week to find ‘em. How the hell are we supposed to find one that actually knows we’re after her?”

Sam sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. “We’ll just have to narrow down where she’s most likely to turn up and hope for some luck.”

Dean made a sceptical noise. “You make it sound like we’ve ever had any.”

Sam didn’t really have a response to that, so he settled with giving his brother a small smile before retreating to the bathroom to change. He threw off his clothes and quickly donned his PJ’s, silently relishing the small comfort they brought after a day of running about in cold woods with several layers stacked atop each other. He glanced in the grubby mirror above the sink, noting the length of his hair. He brushed a hand through the soft brown strands, wondering just when he’d stopped getting it cut short. 

Shrugging at himself, he quickly brushed his teeth and finished up in the bathroom, being as quiet as possible when he realised Dean was snoring again. A fond smile graced over his features, made softer by the light of the lamp in the small room. He dumped his clothes in his bag and placed his phone on the nightstand before turning off the light, settling into the covers and falling into a deep, exhausted sleep amidst the sound of the rain and his brother’s soft snores.

***

A breeze covered everything as a thin mist that curved around all in its way, a constant force that moved like endless silken fabric, a thousand colours glittering within its folds like a sea made of stars. The land beneath was barren, a desolate wilderness of grey ragged rocks and the distant sound of ocean waves gently crashing.

Sam hardly dared move. He watched the mist carve a smooth path around his feet, marvelling in the rainbow lights that danced just below the surface, his eyes catching the movements and likening them to a flock of birds. He glanced around, but found he could see no further than a few metres in front of him. The land seemed to fade out of existence after that, a wall of white cloud blocking whatever lay beyond. 

A sudden sound startled the world around him. A ripple of blue, the brightest and most dazzling he’d ever seen, flowed through the mist and set the starry sea alight with an azure glow. He fought to find something to compare the sound to, but his efforts were in vain. He had never heard anything like it, a long ringing tone that rose and fell as though following a strangely familiar melody.

Sam…

He whipped around, hearing the sound of his own name being called from all directions. He knew the voice...he was sure of it.

Sam…SAM!

“SAMMY!”

Sam’s body jumped about a mile in the air. He blinked wildly and brushed his tangled hair from his eyes, heart hammering so hard it almost hurt. The world swam into existence, and he saw his brother’s half-irritated, half-amused face staring back at him.

“Jeez Sammy!” Dean announced, shoving a shoe on his foot as he spoke. “Sleep any harder and you’ll be a freaking log. C’mon, rise and shine Sleepin’ Beauty, we got places to be and bitches to gank!”

Sam looked about confusedly, taking in yellowing wallpaper and grubby carpets. He almost groaned aloud when he realised the situation. A dream, he’d been having a dream and Dean woke him up. 

“Ugh…what time is it?” Sam dropped his head back onto the uncomfortable pillows and dragged his hand over his eyes.

“Nearly lunch, so hurry up. I’m hungry.”

“Let me guess, pie?”

“Well, duh.” Dean smirked at his brother. “But first, I want something with a lotta unidentifiable meat, grease, and other heart-attack inducing loveliness.”

Sam groaned out loud this time.


End file.
